


The Omega Dream Package

by TrenchcoatBaby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 05:23:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16402103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrenchcoatBaby/pseuds/TrenchcoatBaby
Summary: Dean Winchester, part-time custodian at Sandover Industries, is an omega who listens to smutty audiobooks during his shifts. Unfortunately for him, the books are good—too good. The scent of his arousal is palpable, and the company vice president, Castiel Novak, has taken notice.





	The Omega Dream Package

**Author's Note:**

> So I needed to write something short, sweet, and smutty to take the edge off before I start my longer fic for pinefest, heh, and this certainly fits the bill! 
> 
> Thanks to my stellar beta babes, who make my life so much more interesting! [EllenOfOz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/pseuds/EllenOfOz), [WaywardAF67](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardAF67/pseuds/WaywardAF67), [WaywardJenn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardjenn/pseuds/waywardjenn), and [CBFirestarter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CBFirestarter/pseuds/CBFirestarter).

The first time Dean Winchester ended up in Mr. Novak’s office, it wasn’t by choice.

But the second time, and the third time…well.

Things had gotten out of hand.

In was early evening when he stood in the doorway, armed braced against the threshold, unable to keep a smirk off his face.

“You wanted to see me?” Dean’s voice was low and rumbling. Castiel was sitting at his desk and looked up, cheeks flushed, staring at Dean with wide, blue eyes…

Last month, during an unremarkable winter afternoon, his co-worker Benny informed him that the suits upstairs were requesting a meeting with him. Dean was ninety-nine percent sure that the wacky bitch from HR—Natalie? Naomi?—was the reason. Their one and only meeting had been a hot pile of omega-blaming hate trash. _We strongly recommend you use scent blockers during your shifts to increase productivity of the overall staff._ Yeah, no fucking thanks lady. Why should Dean shell out fifty bucks and change the literal biology of his goddamn body just ‘cause some horny alphas couldn’t keep it in their pants?

So, yeah, the immediate follow-up meeting with a nameless big wig hadn’t exactly surprised Dean. Before this happened he had kept his nose to the ground for over four months, trading off with Benny and cleaning every other morning and evening, putting his headphones in and being the silent janitor-type. He had worked on autopilot, clocking in and out of this part-time gig to help with the cost of Sammy’s senior year of high school.

But then January came, and he had acquired a new...hobby...and he supposed he deserved a slap on the wrist for it. Even though this whole thing was Sammy’s fault and he would reiterate that until the day he died. Sam and his twisted gag gift—one that might cost him his job while also triggering the strongest crush that Dean could ever remember having.

Like, fucking _ever._

“Sit down,” Castiel said. With anyone else—any other _alpha_ —Dean would have resisted strictly on principal, either staying slouched in the doorway or hovered near the desk. But he wanted to be here, to be closer to Castiel, to let his eyes linger over his dark, tousled hair and pink lips and—

Dean didn’t break eye contact as he grabbed a chair, casually spreading his legs wide, fingering the denim holes in his jeans. He licked his lips pointedly and continued his eye contact with Castiel, who looked totally absorbed in the omega’s every movement.

Say what you will about a GED’d, blue-collared man, but Dean Winchester knew a thing or two about attraction. And Castiel was equally attracted to him, plain and simple.

“Whaddya wanna discuss today, Cas?” He smiled cheekily, as if it was normal for a part-time custodian to shoot the shit with the vice president on the reg. In response to his laidback tone Castiel just glared, which honest to god, was really working for Dean. During their first two meetings the alpha had been too polite, too careful in his language and mannerism, so different from all other alphas Dean had come across since the day his secondary gender had presented itself. He had appreciated the respect and veneration at first, but after he’d gotten a full glimpse and whiff of the man in front of him, that’d been it.

He had been trying—and failing—for a month now to incite Castiel Novak into fucking him senseless.

And the way Cas was scowling at him now… Jesus Christ. Dean’s forehead turned sweaty, and he tried taking a small breath to steady himself.

But that had been a mistake.

A colossal one.

They were enclosed in Cas’ office, and Castiel himself was sitting in front of Dean wearing a full suit—though his tie was backwards, which Dean secretly found adorable. Anyways, point was that the alpha’s scent had permeated the small space, a sweet and bright mint aroma clinging to every surface, every molecule of the stagnant air around them. The scent invigorated Dean in a way that made him fidget in his chair, that made him want to jump and run and be chased. It was the instinct of an aroused omega, and he tried to suppress the scent, to prevent it from leaving the pores of his skin. He panicked, hoping his sudden change in demeanor wasn’t obvious to Castiel. He had wanted to seduce Cas, sure, but with confidence and swagger. He didn’t wanna come off as a writhing, desperate omega slinging his slick all over the first available knot.

“Mr. Winchester—”

“Dean.” The cocky smile had faded and now Dean felt nervous, breathless.

“Dean.” Castiel looked just as shaken, as if maintaining his cool was a concentrated effort. “I assume you know why you’re here?”

It was a loaded question that Dean decided to answer honestly. “Sure do.” He leaned forward with false bravado. This was it—a month of planning, of scheming. They were finally here, alone. Together. He wasn’t about to throw away all his hard work. “All I’m wonderin’ is…” He leaned closer an additional inch, their hands almost brushing. “What exactly is my punishment?”

This whole thing had begun on Dean’s twenty-first birthday. Sammy had bought him a yearlong romance audiobook subscription called _The Omega Dream Package._ It had been a joke, a prank, like the hideous duct tape wallet from three years ago or the Donald Trump condom pack at Christmas (that shit had seriously killed Dean’s libido for nearly two weeks). Dean was supposed to scoff at the romance package, roll his eyes, and never look at the damn thing again.

But a week later, at work of all places, he had gotten bored as hell. Benny had called in sick and his usual Zeppelin playlist was not helping to pass the time. So, as he wandered around the fifth floor emptying waste baskets, he put in his headphones and downloaded the first novel. It was called _Out to Alpha_ and involved an omega Russian spy and an alpha warlock and no matter how far-fucking-fetched the story was, Dean devoured that shit like a fine glass of whiskey. He listened to the fifteen-hour-long audiobook for two continuous days at work and then immediately started the next one. Within no time it had morphed into a full-on secret obsession, but it should’ve stayed that way. He had a great fucking poker face and enough control of facilities not to pop a boner during work hours. But his scent.

His scent gave him away.

He had been embarrassed at first, when HR had called him in and requested he use scent blockers. They didn’t ask _why_ all of Dean’s floors were engulfed in the undeniable scent of aroused omega, but through the process of elimination, they had pinpointed the only realistic culprit. Dean. It wasn’t exactly a dream of his to be spreading horny, down-to-clown omega pheromones everywhere he went. The books were a dumb, disconcerting hobby and he planned to stop. He really did.

But then—once he refused to use the blockers, because fuck that archaic bullshit—he got sent to Mr. Novak’s office. Castiel had a lean and angular body, obviously a runner, and he had the kind of smooth and sculpted face that people wrote R&B songs about. His skin was dark and tanned, his stubble consistently trimmed like a sultry shadow across his face, and while Dean had originally stormed into the room with righteous indignation about the blockers, his hand froze mid-handshake at the sight of Castiel’s eyes. He was the most beautiful man Dean had ever seen, while also being kind and smart, in his late twenties and already a vice president of one of the most prestigious companies in town.

Dean was sprung, almost instantly.

Castiel had agreed with Dean that the blockers felt like a huge invasion of privacy, and apologized profusely on behalf of Naomi. Then he had asked—rather awkwardly and endearingly—if there was any other solution Dean could think of that would solve their current condrunum. As it were, they couldn’t exactly run a productive company with a bunch of alphas searching desperately for an omega with unleashed sexual energy wandering around the water cooler. That’s when Dean had mumbled a confession about his pastime and _The Omega Dream Package_ until his cheeks were burning red. Castiel had also blushed at the development, forcing his eyes to leave Dean’s face, and he quietly suggested that Dean do his private reading at home instead. Dean had agreed begrudgingly—he really fucking enjoyed those books and they honest-to-god made work more enjoyable—but as he shook Castiel’s hand goodbye, this time a little longer than he should, he realized he had no reason to “run into” this alpha again. Sandover Industries employed over three hundred people, and in the four months he had been here, he had never met Castiel. Odds are, he never would again. Unless…

Unless he kept listening to his smutty books on the job, guaranteeing more reprimanding meetings with his easy-on-the-eyes alpha.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Castiel seemed to have regained some of his composure, and crossed his arms against his chest. Dean swallowed dryly and didn’t allow himself to respond, ‘cause...fuck yeah, he’d like a little punishment from Cas, please and thank you. Rather than throttling them into one of Dean’s romance novels, though, Castiel leaned his head against his chair, seemingly at a loss. “So...which book was it this time?”

The question surprised Dean, but not enough for him not to answer. “ _Hate to Want You_ , it’s about an alpha criminal and an omega cop. They get locked into a jail cell together overnight, and...uh, yeah. Anyways.” He rubbed his neck, trying to appear nonchalant. “It’s pretty good.”

“Hmm,” Castiel mumbled quietly. “I’ll have to add it to my list.”

Dean only nodded dimly, unsure what to say next. Castiel was full of surprises today, that was for damn sure. Did he _really_ read books like this, or was he teasing Dean? The latter seemed more likely. Hell, if the situation were reversed, Dean would definitely be making jokes at Castiel’s expense. While Dean was pondering all this, Castiel was opening the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a fifth of whiskey. Top-shelf, light barreled, honey. Dean raised his eyebrows, but Castiel just regarded him openly, as if daring Dean to condemn drinking on the job after he walked around horny as hell from listening to smutty novels all day.

_Touché._

“Care to partake?” Castiel set two lowball glasses on his desk, and when Dean readily accepted (“Ain’t never said no to good whiskey”) the VP poured them both a drink, neat. Dean took a long, savoring sip and looked at Cas curiously. This meeting was going in an interesting direction, but he sure as hell wasn’t complaining. Castiel used his tongue to swipe the excess liquor off his bottom lip and Dean squirmed in his seat, thinking of every _unsexy_ thing to keep his scent from giving him away again.

Burnt pie. Broken down Impalas. Uncle Bobby in tights—

Fuck. That last one might’ve worked _too_ well. His imagination had scarred him for life.

“So…” Dean cleared his throat, setting his glass down with a pronounced thud against the surface of the desk. It was late afternoon on Friday and everyone else had left for the day. Dean was scheduled for the evening shift, but Cas’ assistant had called him just as he was parking his Baby thirty minutes ago. _Hi, Mr. Winchester? Mr. Novak would like to see you in his office before your shift..._ “Your assistant gone?”

“Alfie?” Castiel was staring down at his empty glass as if it was a personal slight against him. “Yes, he’s gone. Everyone is... I try not to keep anyone late on Fridays. My employees seem to have rather thriving social lives.”

“But not you.” The _nice-looking guy like you_ was implied in Dean’s tone, in the suggestive raise of his eyebrow. Castiel shook his head, so Dean pressed on. “That’s kinda sad, dude. You’re...what? Twenty-six?” Castiel was closer to thirty—Dean had garnered as much from the company website. He was lowballing, sure, but he had learned this particular nicety after his Grandma Deanna smacked him upside the head on her fifty-ninth (definitely _not_ sixty-fourth) birthday.

“Twenty-nine,” Castiel corrected, and even though Dean had suspected it, he marveled at the man in front of him. What was an alpha, a vice president with a soft demeanor and a gorgeous...uh, _everything_...doing unmated?

“I’m—”

“Twenty-one. I know.” Castiel glanced up him coyly, holding a manilla folder. Dean looked at him in surprise, so Castiel said, “I like to know more about the employees who require weekly disciplinary meetings. I’ve read your file, Dean, but I still can’t figure out—” Castiel had been shuffling through the papers, but now he met Dean’s eyes with curiosity and focus, as if trying to solve a puzzle blindfolded. “Why you’re trying to get fired.”

Dean felt his resolve begin to crumble. Fuck, this had been a terrible idea. He should’ve never let himself daydream about Castiel—he should’ve stuck with the same ol’ people he met at the Roadhouse every weekend, should’ve taken one of them home for a quick fuck just to get Castiel out of his system. But he hadn’t slept with anyone for a month, not since meeting Cas, and now he was sexually frustrated with an intensifying crush on an unattainable man. And _said_ unattainable man was about to fire him.

Great plan, Winchester. Really. A-plus.

“I’ll go clean out my locker, then.” Dean rose from the decorative leather chair, turning for the door. To his surprise, Castiel reached across his desk and tugged Dean on the wrist. He tried not to shudder at the contact as he spun around, Castiel’s eyes dazzling blue and deep and _on him._

“You misunderstand me, Dean.” Castiel still hadn’t released Dean’s wrist—his long fingers burning hot against Dean’s skin. “I’m not firing you, I’m just...trying to figure you out.”

Still linked together, the air around them had intensified—some of the professional pretext seeming to drop. Dean, true to form, tried to ease the moment with a chuckle. “You an’ everybody around here, man.”

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Castiel said, more to himself than anyone, maintaining a train of thought as though Dean hadn’t even spoken. “You worked well, diligently even, for four months. No complaints from your supervisor, no issues to speak of. But then, this month—”

“Cas—” They were entering dangerous territory here, and while Dean wanted it more than anything, _ached_ for it, in fact, he was filled with apprehension at the thought of being rejected by someone he wanted so badly.

“You never stopped listening to the books, and I can’t figure out why.” Castiel finally dropped his hand from Dean’s wrist. They were both standing up, staring at each other, only the desk separating them. Castiel was scrutinizing him now, and Dean swallowed, feeling as though he was on the edge of a cliff about to tumble over.

“It sure as hell wasn’t to get fired, I can tell you that much.” Dean felt the truth stumble out of his mouth before he could stop to regroup, to gather himself again. “I work sixty hours a week at my uncle’s auto-shop, but it still ain’t enough to cover my little brother’s school stuff. He got a full ride to Stanford, but there’s still senior trips and class rings and did you know a high school _yearbook_ is like two hundred dollars these days?” Castiel shook his head, looking amused, and waited for him to continue. Dean felt his cheeks flush red. “Uh, anyways, none of that matters—”

“It does, though.” Castiel spoke firmly and took another step forward, body leaned against the desk. If the furniture wasn’t separating them, Dean could only imagine how close they would be standing… “Because you’re risking all that for—romance novels?” Castiel shook his head. “No, you’re too smart, too hard-working. There’s something else going on here.”

Dean snorted, deflecting with everything he had. “Oh yeah, I’m the janitor with a heart of gold about to solve the unsolvable equation.” He threw his hands to show how ridiculous, how unlikely, he thought that sounded.

“Stop it.” It was a benevolent reprimand, but there was still authority in Castiel’s voice. Dean felt his mouth close on instinct. “Don’t talk about yourself in that way. Either tell me the truth, Dean…or just get to work.”

Dean examined his options. He could make a move on Castiel, like he was _fucking desperate_ to do—get turned down, get fired. Nothing stunk worse than a rejected omega, and Sam and Bobby would ask questions, and the whole thing would become an embarrassing mess. Or he could throw in the towel, admit to himself that even though Cas obviously found him attractive, that’s as far as their unlikely—what, friendship?—could go. Then he could keep his job, and buy Sammy all the pointless shit all the other seniors stuffed their lockers with. He could force himself to forget about Cas, and hey, if he drunk himself into a stupor for a few days, that was just a bonus…

He knew in his mind what the right decision was, the safe and practical one, the sort of decisions he had been making his whole life for his family. He knew what he had to do.

Which is why it surprised him, just as much as Castiel, when he reached over the desk, hands grappling for Cas’ neck, arms, shoulders…and brushed their lips together. Castiel’s lips were plump and warm and felt _amazing,_ and though the kiss barely lasted longer than a second, Dean was already addicted to the feeling.

Still, he pulled away the moment his brain seemed to catch up to his body, feeling tense and awkward and—

Castiel pulled him into a second kiss, this one rough and wet and eager. Their lips slotted together seamlessly and Castiel had a hand in Dean’s hair, kneading and tugging, and Dean’s tongue wiped coyly at the entrance of Castiel’s lips. Castiel opened his mouth, breathless, and Dean was flooded with scent—Cas’ energizing mint, the distinct tang of all-things alpha. Distantly Dean could identify his own unique fragrance—he had been told by others that he smelled pretty good, vaguely like candy, but that was as descriptive as anyone had ever gotten. As if hearing his thoughts, Castiel pulled away an inch, both of them panting.

“You smell so good,” he whispered, their foreheads sweaty against each other.

“Oh yeah?” Dean grinned cheekily.

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, as if this was an undeniable fact. “There’s a very subtle whiff of berry, but…it’s more rich. There’s a bite to it, a tartness that’s enticing. It tastes so velvety on my tongue. Dean...” Before he could contain his surprise, Castiel ran a thumb over his bottom lip, breathing deeply again, scenting him without a shred of timidness. “It’s chocolate. Dark chocolate.”

Dean had to remind himself to breathe. No one had ever narrowed his scent down that well, or that quickly. Like, _ever._ Jesus. Cas knew this wasn’t normal, right?

Now that Dean thought about it, even during that first meeting four weeks ago, he had been able to isolate the fainter notes of Cas—not only the mint, but the spearmint specifically. There was a natural sweetness to him, an aura of crisp and cooling energy that equally exhilarated and soothed Dean. Together they were...

Mint.

Chocolate.

“Shit.” It was an automatic reflex, an awed and disbelieving sort of whisper. “Cas, we’re…” A fucking candy maker’s dream. He visualized the carton of his favorite mint chocolate chip ice-cream, half-eaten in the freezer, and the words printed on the front— _bitter, earthy tones of dark chocolate blending with bright, refreshing mint, a contrast of perfection..._

Did this mean what Dean thought it might?

“I know.” Castiel looked at him fully, eyes wide but determined. It was irrefutable what he was talking about—what he was realizing at the exact same time as Dean.

But it was illogical, impossible. Dean was a high school dropout. Cas was a sexy, sleek VP just hoping to get his rocks off for the night. Right? There was no way that they were…that they could be…

“We can talk about this later,” Cas said, noticing that Dean had turned quietly introspective. “But in the meantime, can I…” He inhaled sharply, hands coming to rest on Dean’s neck, shaking. “Kiss you again?”

“An alpha, asking permission?” Dean couldn’t help it—he grinned and shook his head teasingly. “Hell yeah you can. ‘Long as you can come across this desk so I can get my hands on you, good and proper.”

“I have a better plan…” The devious tone of Cas’ voice made Dean’s skin feel prickly and warm. Castiel took his hands and swiped them across his desk, all his papers and folders falling to the carpeted floor in a _shoosh_ of crinkled paper. Now there was a large, Dean-sized space vacant on the desk. “Come here.”

Dean didn’t have to be told twice—he sat his ass down, spun to face Castiel, and opened his legs wide and inviting. He reached up, twisting a hand in Castiel’s blue tie, and pulled him down for a searing kiss. Castiel responded enthusiastically, head tilting as he deepened their embrace, hands scrambling around Dean’s shoulders. Dean drew him closer, feeling the solid pressure of Cas’ body rubbing against his spread legs. His cock began to show interest _real fucking quick_ , and he moaned into the unyielding heat of Castiel’s mouth. He dropped the tie and clutched Cas’ face between his hands, sucking the other man’s lower lip between his teeth mercilessly, nipping and sucking indomitably as he withdrew...determined to impress Castiel with all his best moves.

It worked, thank the fucking cosmos, ‘cause suddenly Cas was palming Dean’s dick from outside his jeans and dragging his wet lips fervently across the slope of Dean’s neck. Dean trembled and moaned, already so fucking ready to get naked—and more importantly, get _Cas_ naked—that he tightened his grip automatically, scrambling for any part of Castiel to hold onto. The scent around them was dense with lust and need, and slick was beginning to lightly dampen Dean’s boxers, a waft of untempered arousal that made him feel lightheaded with want.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered, his voice grumbling and low and wrecked. “If we don’t stop...I mean, if we continue...I don’t know if I can…”

“Don’t…” Breath labored, Dean grabbed the lapels of Cas’ suit jacket and shrugged it off his shoulders, then untucked his button-up and opened the front clasp of his slacks. “Don’t you dare stop.” It took everything in him not to reach down and stroke that hard, erect alpha cock…

But he looked up instead, needing Castiel to see how much he wanted this. Wanted him.

“Will you fuck me?” Dean was breathless, chest heaving, and Castiel looked as though his eyes might fall straight from his skull.

“Dean, I…” Castiel looked visibly tempted, as if he was a starving man attempting to resist a free buffet. “I’m technically your superior...we probably—”

“Are you freaking serious?” Dean tried to steady himself, to let the rise of disbelief leave his voice. “Cas, not to get all biological and freaky, but…the way you scented me? The way I know you smell like spearmint fresh off the fucking vine? The way you make me feel...I dunno, calm and invigorated, like I’ve been asleep for a while but you’ve finally woken me up? This shit ain’t normal, dude.”

Maybe it was hearing their situation explained out loud. Or maybe it was some sort of weird alpha thing—“my-omega-finds-my-presence-soothing” or some shit. But whatever it was, Cas looked at him tenderly. He brushed a hand through Dean’s hair unconsciously and Dean leaned into the touch.

“Are there any actual rules against this?” Dean was almost afraid to ask, but since Cas seemed like the follow-the-rules type, he felt like he should ask. If there were, honest to god, Dean might just quit on the spot. There were plenty of other part-time gigs he could get. Besides, it’s not like emptying trash cans was in his five year plan.

“Since I’m not your direct supervisor, not…exactly.” The realization dawned bright over Castiel’s face, now lighter and full of hope. “There will be a form to fill out tomorrow with HR. And we’ll have to omit certain, um, details of our encounter. Like the location, for instance.”

“Castiel Novak, you deceitful little bastard.” Dean flashed him a haughty, evocative smirk. His hands rose up to Castiel’s waist, where his opened slacks were hanging, the skin beneath layers of cotton just begging to be touched. “If that’s decided, then I’d _really_ like to touch you now.”

And then they were kissing again in earnest, colliding with tongues and teeth and the frantic shift of hands. Dean didn’t know how long the making out lasted—seconds, minutes, hours?—before he was hit with the conspicuous earthy scent of Cas’ arousal. And then his hand was reaching into Cas’ boxers and pumping his cock with abandon, wishing he had lube, but instead, using beads of precome to make his hand glide somewhat fluidly. Above him Castiel thrashed, violent as a shockwave, no longer able to focus on kissing, just huffing erratic breaths into Dean’s mouth. Cas’ cock hardened beneath his hand and Dean moaned at the heaviness, the stiffness of it. He wanted this to be good for Cas—like spank-bank material good _—_ so he dropped his hands momentarily and unbuttoned his own jeans. Castiel seemed to accept the sudden change, clearly eager to get his hands on Dean. But Dean reached backwards, his asscrack soaking hot with slick, and wetted his hand. Then, before Cas seemed to catch on, he wrapped his slick-doused fist around the alpha’s cock with renewed vigor.

“Oh fuck…Dean…” His husky voice held such reverence that Dean decided it was his personal mission to get his new, straight-laced alpha to always whisper expletives during sex. Cause yeah…as long as Cas would have him, there was definitely going to be a second time. And a third. And probably a one hundredth.

If Dean had been smitten before, well…now he was a goner.

“You’re so fucking hot, Cas.” Castiel was arching his back and gripping Dean tensely by the shoulder. Hearing Dean’s voice seemed to give him renewed self-awareness, and he inhaled shakily, swatting Dean’s hands away gently.

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply, honestly. “Let me take care of you.”

He fingered the edge of Dean’s t-shirt, waited for permission, and slipped it over Dean’s head once he received it. Then he was getting to his knees, Dean still spread-eagle on the desk, his crotch now at eye level. Dean’s heart raced as Cas stripped him, lifting his hips to give Castiel more fabric to grip. He untied Dean’s boots and slid the jeans and boxers clear passed his ankles, the clothing pooling and forgotten under the desk. Up above, Dean’s dick was waving firm and proud as a flag on a hill and Castiel eyed it as if the sight were a tourist attraction.

At the first lick of Cas’ tongue Dean moaned...like this was his first time. Jesus. What was it about Castiel that made him so unhinged? He was torn between lying comfortably horizontal and seeing the debauched sight of his dick going in and out of Castiel’s mouth. Eventually he compromised by leaning his elbows onto the desk, still maintaining a great view of the Castiel-blowjob show…and he was fucking glad he did. Cas put Dean’s cock fully into his mouth then placed both hands on Dean’s hips, shuffling him down until Cas’ hand more easily reached his ass. He didn’t broach Dean with his long and skilled fingers, like the omega expected, but gathered some slick and popped his mouth off Dean’s dick, lathering and stroking Dean with his wet hand before going down on him again. His eyes were wild, eager, and Castiel sucked him down even more intently than before. His mouth was vibrating around the head of Dean’s cock, going deeper and deeper before coming up for air. His tongue lavished Dean greedily, as if the slick tasted alluring and sweet as honey. He was insatiable, keeping Dean the center of his ministrations, using his hands, tongue, and mouth in an unpredictable pattern until Dean felt entirely overwhelmed. Before he knew it he was gasping and shaking, struggling to hold his position on the desk, a forceful flurry of butterflies gathering in his stomach.

“Cas—stop—I’m gonna come—”

But the warning only seemed to encourage Castiel further, and he reached a hand up and carefully fondled Dean’s balls between his fingertips, maintaining his gaze on Dean’s face as he hollowed out his cheeks and sucked and sucked and sucked. Dean’s orgasm hit him with an overpowering shout, hands tangling into Castiel’s hair. Cas lapped up the come from Dean’s dick as if he were swallowing liquid gold, until the sensation was too much and Dean nudged him away softly.

“That was...amazing…”

“Good.” Castiel was smiling, overtly delighted, and stumbled to his feet to stand. “I hoped your first orgasm would be enjoyable.”

“My...first…?” Dean was still breathless, blinking away the fuzzy circles in his eyes. Surely he had misunderstood Castiel.

“Yes.” Cas was ridding himself of shoes, slacks, and boxers, finishing Dean’s halfway attempt from earlier. Before, you know, Dean’s ability to function had been rendered useless via Cas and his mindblowing cock-sucking abilities. Fucking hell, man. “Dean, I intend to make you come at least three times tonight.”

To his embarrassment, a keening sigh escaped Dean’s lips. The alpha unbuttoned his shirt, dropping it carelessly, then pulled his undershirt clear off his shoulders. He was completely naked now and the sight of firm, tan muscles—not to mention an undeniable erection—had Dean’s eyes widening.

“C’mon, alpha,” Dean whispered, with much more confidence than he currently posed. “Gimme your best shot.”

Dean knew better than provoking an alpha, no matter how flirtatiously, but the flicker of fiery hunger that floated across Castiel’s face made him think it was _definitely_ worth it.

“On your knees,” Castiel growled, crowding against him. Dean accepted the order—and it was just that, an _acception,_ cause fuck anyone who tried to tell Dean to do something he didn’t wanna do—but Castiel continued. “All fours.”

Anticipating the direction this might be heading, Dean splayed his palms out flatly, ass unabashedly in the air. For a moment he wondered if the furniture below would hold him like this, but it seemed sturdy enough, assembled from expensive solid oak and probably tough enough to hold three times his weight. At least, that’s what he hoped. HR might get a bit suspicious at the sight of broken furniture…

Dean was preoccupied with these thoughts, and a half-dozen flustered musings on the new territory he was entering with Cas. Which is why he barely registered Castiel kneading the taut muscles of his ass, and he sure as fuck wasn’t expecting a flat, damp tongue against his hole until he shuddered and jumped.

“Somebody’s skittish,” Castiel breathed playfully, kissing and nipping the globes of Dean’s ass. “Or just daydreaming?”

“Daydreaming,” Dean admitted, wondering if he should feel self-conscious about the sheer _amount_ of slick dripping between his thighs. Being an omega was just...fucking messy sometimes, though being with Castiel was turning into a new and more intense experience altogether.

Still, any coherent thought exited the surface of his brain the moment Castiel’s tongue reappeared, hands spreading Dean’s cheeks and plunging in. Dean borderline howled and pushed his ass back on instinct, wanting Cas to enter more of his exposed, leaking hole. Castiel hummed noticeably with arousal as his tongue went in and out, in and out, the unrepenting scent of turned-on alpha making Dean feel dizzy with a renewed wave of longing. Amazingly he was already getting hard again, on-edge and quivering. He couldn’t see what Castiel was doing in order to predict his next move, and the sheer anticipation made Dean tremble with excitement and nerves. Cas’ tongue penetrated him deeper and longer and the sound was overwhelmingly obscene, the enclosed office filled with the echo of him lapping up the slick—thirsty and primal and untamed. Jesus Christ, Dean thought, forget a fluffer, _this_ is what porn stars should be listening to so they can keep it up: the uninhibited licks, sucks, and swallows of Castiel Novak eating him out within an inch of life.

“Cas…ah…fucking hell…”

It could’ve been twenty minutes or twenty hours, who the fuck knows, but when Cas finally came up for air Dean’s cock was hard and aching all over again. His body was vibrating with sensation, and he wanted _very_ badly to come from Cas’ tongue alone. Hey, he _had_ been promised three orgasms, right? He whined at the absence of stimulation and Castiel only chuckled, the bastard. A moment later, the gradual breach of Cas’ finger hardly did anything more than frustrate him. He pushed back against it, zealous and impatient, illogically seeking out what he really wanted to penetrate him…

“Cas, c’mon.” He was resisting the urge to fuck himself on Cas’ finger, knowing it would be better if he let Castiel surprise him…but dear god, it had been half a century of foreplay and Dean was ready to get fucked already. Castiel added the second finger, and while it satisfied a particular itch, it was hardly enough.

“What do you need, Dean?” Castiel voice was husky and unwavering and so goddamn sexy, but instead of begging to be fucked six ways to Sunday, Dean surprised himself by answering, “Kiss me.”

It took some maneuvering—Castiel allowing his finger to stay put while Dean contorted his neck at an unnatural angle—but finally their lips met. The kiss was sloppy and genuine and the exact reassurance Dean needed to acknowledge that, _yeah_ , this was really happening. Cas pulled away and left a trail of invigorating nips and kisses along Dean’s shoulders and back, and it made Dean hyper-aware of every inch of his vulnerable, uncovered body. Thanks to all the hours he had logged sitting at the Roadhouse bar, he had been with plenty of others before—alphas, betas, and omegas alike—but no one had ever _worshipped_ him like this. Nothing had felt quite right until Castiel. And between the heightened scenting, the inexplicable draw, and the current mindblowing sex they were having…

This had changed everything.

He had heard of instant chemistry, of an immediate pull, of an allure that was inflamed and unstoppable. But this alpha and omega, fairytale wet dream was reserved for the big, capital “M”—and Dean had never expected to find his, not after all the starts and stops and one night stands that colored his romantic history. But here he was, one month after meeting Castiel Noak, ready to bare his soul and neck and...

Ready to be claimed, and to claim.

It was appropriate, maybe even predestined, that Castiel chose that moment to nudge against Dean’s hole tantalizingly, sinking in with the tip of his cock. Dean drew in a breath and concentrated on keeping his body relaxed, allowing Cas’ stiffness to sink lower, past the ring of tight muscle until he eventually bottomed out. The intrusion felt wide and thick but not painful, not after all the prep and the never-ending slick, and Dean only needed a minute or two before he was ready. And then he was begging for movement, for deep and unrelenting thrusts, and Cas happily obliged. He held Dean by the hips, practically growling, pulling out before plunging again. Dean closed his eyes and focused on the feeling—the fingers digging vigorously into his sides, the arduous rasp of Castiel’s chest, the hot searing heat of his throbbing cock pounding into Dean. It was an out of body experience, being with Cas—like Dean was rising out of consciousness and watching himself be fucked within an inch of his life, rather than experiencing it firsthand. It was the only way to prevent himself from coming too quickly, and he desperately wanted this feeling to last…to spiral headfirst into oblivion with Castiel gripping him from behind, tethering him to the present.

And then Castiel changed his angle, prodding his cock lower towards Dean’s belly, and a sudden flicker of fire kindled—burning like sparked petroleum in his veins.

“Ah…ah, right there Cas, ah fuck, don’t stop, Cas—”

Castiel propelled his cock deeper and faster and they both moaned instantaneously, muttering each other names over and over. By the erratic rhythm alone Dean could tell the alpha was close, on the precipice of something staggering, and he had the urge to touch his cock—but decided against. He could come, untouched, if only…

“Knot me,” Dean begged, not caring how desperate sounded.

“Dean.” There was a rumble in Castiel’s voice, a reverberation in his chest. “Dean, are you sure—”

“Knot me, Cas.” Another thrust crossed and Dean whined. “Please, alpha—knot me—ah—fuck—”

Dean felt the swell first, the impossible surge of Cas’ white hot come filling him, making him shout. His own orgasm slipped out of him without his control, abrupt and incredibly and unbearably intense, the moment Cas’ knot caught the outer muscle of his rim. The surface of Cas’ desk was covered in Dean’s release and he felt tears forming at the edge of his vision, Castiel’s knot overstimulating him from the inside out. Castiel fell heavy against him and Dean’s elbows gave way, lying horizontal and panting, the movement making Cas’ knot plunge deeper and making them both moan. With Castiel behind him, sweating and exhaling fitfully, Dean instinctively bared his neck. Castiel’s lips found the slope of his skin, the unblemished, unmarked spot for his mate. _Bite me. Mate me._ Dean wasn’t sure where thoughts that came from, but _holy fucking shit_ did he mean it. As if drawn there by gravity Castiel kissed his mating spot, lips dragging wet and warm, hips shifting and his knot inadvertently nuding Dean’s prostate—and he came again, this time so powerful it pained him, scalding like a white hot ember. Lying underneath Cas he felt boneless, depraved, and absolutely, without a doubt, in love with Castiel Novak.

And one day, maybe soon, he would have the mating bite to prove it.

It took over thirty minutes for the knot to come down, but rather than the unavoidable intimacy being awkward or stifled, they just…talked. They discussed nothing in particular, just sharing insignificant parts of their week in a way that felt comfortable, personal. They were both still visibly reeling from their encounter, embracing each other tightly as the waves of euphoria eventually faded into a blissful spark of contentedness. Once Cas’ knot went down they cleaned up, which was a messy undertaking involving many wipes and tissues—though Dean wished he could go home for a shower. Or, ya know, share a post-coital shower with Cas instead. Hmm…that would be the ideal situation.

“So.” Dean was now half-dressed, sated and sore and grinning. “I get off work in nine hours…buy you a beer?”

Castiel chuckled. Dean was still shirtless and he held Dean from behind, kissing Dean’s shoulder blades, embracing him closer. “Let’s make it an early breakfast. Waffles on me.”

“Jesus, Cas. You’re something else...” He kissed Cas’ palm, his knuckles, his wrist. “Thank the freaking lord for _The Omega Dream Package.”_

Behind him, Castiel snorted. “Yes,” he agreed softly. “I was skeptical at first, but it does seem to have its advantages…”

 


End file.
